“Don’t kill anyone if you can avoid it, Easy.”
“You wanna drive, Carter?”
“Not unless it’s got a linked weapons array, I don’t.”
Easy snorts. “Well, this rig sure as sket don’t have one of those.”
Lana cuts in. “Surber is slowing down. We’re here.”
I listen to the brakes squeal as our oversized hearse comes to a slow, grinding halt. The engine idles loudly for a moment and then I hear sled doors open and slam shut. Easy kills the engine.
“Surber is waving us out.”
“Joy ride’s over,” I say, moving to the back of the truck over the uneasy ground of dead koobs. Right at the edge, I recognize the corpse of the chieftain we shot up inside his sled, missing arm and all. He’s staring right at me, his goggling eyes hazed in death, like some kind of ghostly cataracts. “Time to clock back in and earn our paychecks.”
I hop down, feeling my weapons clatter against my body armor on their slings. I turn around the side of the truck in time to see Lana swing open her door and hop down herself, her boots sending up a little cloud of dust as she hits the rock street.
We’re at something like a house—maybe a koob manor because it’s pretty big. It’s at the absolute top of the hill. I could see that when I first got out and looked down the winding road at all the buildings, village homes, and bazaar stalls beneath us. Pretty safe bet that this is the tribal seat, home of big chief for Pekk.
“Hustle and form up behind Surber,” I say, because I’m not sure why else we’d be here if not to provide additional security beyond what Errol and Wick can do.
I begin to jog but catch myself slowing down involuntarily. Surber is walking straight toward a saffron-robed older koob—obviously the chief. And that chief is surrounded by at least a hundred armed koob warriors.
“Okay,” Winters says into comms as he hustles along. “That’s a lot of guns waiting for us.”
“Keep moving,” I say, shaking off the momentary surprise at suddenly seeing so many potential threats.
We fall in line behind Surber and his bodyguards. Some of the koob warriors take notice of us, but Surber and the chieftain pay no mind. Nobody on either side speaks except for the two of them. They’re speaking koob in what I can only describe as warm and friendly. Like they go a long way back.
And maybe they do. Big Nee has been setting things up on Kublar for a long time. I practically just got here.
The chieftain is joined at his side by a servant holding a tray of steaming teacups. The head koob puts an arm around Surber and motions for the crowd of armed warriors to part, opening a pathway to the tall, square wooden compound’s grand opening.
Surber says something in Kublaren and then turns, finally acknowledging my team’s presence. “Carter. One of our warriors has been invited to join in the ceremony. Send in Winters.”
“Me?” Winters says.
And I’m wondering the same thing. Not that I want to be swept into some bizarre koob ritual where I’ll be forced to eat, drink, and smoke who-knows-what, but Winters is definitely the junior guy on the team. The least warrior of my warfighter crew.
“You heard him, Winters. Move up.”
The kid obeys, hustling and looking formidable in his expensive aftermarket armor and kit. Maybe that’s why Surber chose him. He looks the part, if flash is where you want things to count.
Winters disappears along with Errol and Wick inside the big meeting house’s front gate. Surber walks a few steps more with the chieftain, speaking the language with perfection, minus the obvious inability to perform certain clicks and sounds due to a lack of an airsac. He pauses, nods, presses a hand on the chieftain’s shoulder, and then walks back to where we stand.
“Guard the truck,” Surber says, his eyes darting to where it sits farther back on the road. “Chieftain Y’keed will have some of his honor guard with you. Same rule applies…” He’s speaking loud enough for all of us to hear now.
“If they try to put you out, show you up… don’t let them. It’s what the Kublarens call sitizt’ka. It’s a ritualistic test to see whether you possess the proper fertilization sacs.”
“What?” asks Abers.
“Balls, gentlemen. And you have my apologies for saying so, Miss Romnova. They want to make sure their potential allies have the balls necessary to do what comes next. Make sure you show ’em. Just don’t do anything stupid.”
And with that, Surber walks away.
“Sucks to be Lana,” Easy jokes.
“You couldn’t handle being me on your best day, Aguilar.”
It isn’t long before the armed koobs begin to waddle over toward us, each one hoisting a rifle up on his shoulder at the ready across his chest. I counted each of their three-fingers, and was pleased to see none of them were wrapped inside a trigger-well.
“Let’s meet our friends at the front of the truck,” I say, moving ahead to greet the incoming horde. “Who knows how they’ll react to what we’ve got in back.”
I send out a Kublaren greeting to the black-robed koob who looks to be the group’s leader. He’s overall a sort of mustard color with occasional brown spots and a light yellow airsac. I can see right away that he’s carrying a beat-up looking N-4 blaster rifle.
“Kika.”
The koob lets out a low croak, the way a human might growl “hmmm,” but otherwise doesn’t verbally respond. He walks in front of me and I’m a little proud of the fact
